for madmen

 

 

 

How enormous are we! How far our reach!  How endless our creativity! (Sometimes it comes as a surprise that the great are still only human.)

In war, the notion of humans being anymore than their puny physical selves is completely abandoned. So in war,we debase ourselves. And for the power trips of madmen,(western and eastern), we do it over and over.

 

 

 

Goya.           

Of course not;

of course no one that ever cracked open a head

has seen a symphony pour out.

 

No executioner has seen the flow of an amber fireside

with its intimate and tangling caresses

drain from the split skulls of lovers

 

nor have soldiers who shoot dark holes

seen rafts of memories spilling, carrying the children,

                  the birthdays, the orchards, the dances.

 

When they shot the poet Lorca,

the bullets sailed in a universe, yet when the blood spurted

it was only blood to them.